


First Impressions

by ohthislove



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Dark!Bruce Wayne, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Playboy!Bruce Wayne, Smut, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22601665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohthislove/pseuds/ohthislove
Summary: Based on this request on tumblr: "Hi! My request is for non-con Bruce Wayne. Basically the reader is mean to him, like bullying him and he finds a way to take advantage of her or something thank you :) it’d be great if it was smut”
Relationships: Bruce Wayne/Reader, Bruce Wayne/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 91





	First Impressions

“Please, (Y/N)!” your best friend Grace Blomdahl’s whiny voice pierced your ear through the phone speaker. “I’m begging you, come party with us just this once?”

You sighed. You had been at this for what felt like hours. “Okay. Fine, Grace. You’ve twisted my arm.”

She squealed. “Yes! It’s going to be so much fun. I promise, you’re not going to regret this.”

“Already too late,” you muttered under your breath.

And that’s how you found yourself being dragged by Grace through a crowd of writhing bodies in a club you didn’t know the name of wearing a dress too short and too tight to your liking and heels that you could barely walk in. The whole place reeked of sweat and alcohol, and the stench made your stomach churn.

You stopped at a table full of people you didn’t recognize. “(Y/N), these are my friends.” They all waved at you. She went around the table, introducing them one by one before landing on the final occupant. “And this is Bruce Wayne,” she finished.

You turned your head to lock eyes with a boy with dark hair, pale skin, and fine features. His was the only face that had a sense of familiarity attached to it. You had never met him before, but you had heard plenty about him - how he liked to take girls out, play with them, and when he got bored, dumped them like they were nothing. The corners of his pink lips curled into a sly smirk, and the weight of his heavy gaze was suddenly too much to bear, like it was scalding you. You looked away before he could burn you anymore. He was definitely someone to watch out for.

You knew you were in for a terrible night when a boy named Tommy Elliot handed Grace a drink and whisked her off to the dance floor. You spent most of your time squeezed in between two girls you didn’t know at the table. Eventually, everyone had gotten up to dance or get more drinks, leaving you alone.

“You’re not gonna dance?”

You snapped your head to see Bruce sitting at the other end of the table. You hadn’t even realized he was still there. He seemed to blend into the darkness of the club like a shadow. It was the first time you had heard him speak all night, and his voice was smooth like silk.

He quirked a brow at you, and you realized you hadn’t yet answered his question. You shook your head. “I don’t dance.”

He rose from his seat, the legs of his chair scratching against the polished floors. He walked over and sat down next to you. The sudden proximity made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “Do you drink at least?”

You shook your head again, and he chuckled, deep and low. “So you don’t dance and you don’t drink. Why are you here then?” He leaned closer to you, a wide grin spread across his face. “For the entertainment?”

You grimaced. “Why do you care?”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I was just asking a question. No harm, no foul.”

“The only reason I’m here is because Grace forced me to come.” You stared straight ahead of you at the dance floor. You could just barely make out the top of Grace’s head as she bobbed along to the blaring music. “Now why don’t you go back to leaving me alone?”

The smile on his face disappeared. “God forbid I try to start a conversation.”

You whipped your head around to sneer at him. “Do you think I don’t know who you are?”

He cocked his head. “And just who am I, (Y/N)?” He put heavy emphasis on your name.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “You think you’re better than everyone. You think you can do whatever you want just because your family owns Gotham City.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. You felt silly spouting such venom to someone you had just met.

He drew his brows together, and his lips twisted into a frown. An expression of sorrow and pain etched its way onto his face, but in the next second, it vanished. “Right.” He scooped up his drink and stood up. “I guess I won’t bother you anymore then.”

You sat there by yourself, feeling foolish and dumb, but you told yourself it was for the better. You’d heard the stories; whatever Bruce had wanted with you, it couldn’t have been good. He was just trying to manipulate you and make you feel bad for him.

You shook it off and stood up, resolving to leave. You had had your fill of the nightlife for sometime. You texted Grace on your way out that you felt sick and had gone home. She probably wouldn’t even notice you weren’t there until the morning.

-

“We missed you last night.” Grace’s voice sounded weak and groggy over the speaker. You expected she was hungover from her usual antics.

“And by ‘we’ you mean ‘you,’ right?” you joked, unlocking your mailbox in your apartment complex.

“Oh, come on! I’m sure if you had made more of an effort with the others that one time, they would love you just as much as I do.”

Your thoughts briefly veered off to Bruce and the conversation you had had that night, how you had basically spurned him without even hearing what he had to say. You dismissed your guilt. You reminded yourself that he was bad news. You didn’t just get a reputation like his by accident.

“Why don't you come with me to Emma’s house party this weekend?” Grace asked, and to convince you even further, she added, “She has a super nice house just outside the city.”

You chewed on your lower lip as you dug your mail out of your mailbox. You’ve had similar versions of the same back and forth over and over again. She never gave up until you gave in. “Okay,” you agreed, if only to get her to shut up sooner.

“Great! I’ll take you shopping after school tomorrow.” You could hear the growing excitement in her voice. “See you then!”

“Bye, Grace. See you.” You hung up as you got in the elevator. You only hoped you wouldn’t run into Bruce there.

You shuffled through the various envelopes as the elevator took you to your apartment’s floor. You swear your heart stopped in your chest when you held in your hands an envelope from Gotham College of Architecture and Design. The elevator binged as the doors slid open, drawing your attention, and you stepped out. As soon as you got inside your apartment, you tore the envelope to shreds, desperate to read its contents.

You had dreamed of going to GCAD for so long. It was a very prestigious school because of its renowned faculty, and practically everyone who graduated with a degree was guaranteed a lifelong, successful career. Although your parents had assured you that you exceeded the standards to get in, you were still nervous. Your entire future was at stake.

You unfolded the letter and read the neatly printed letters. Your heart sank in your chest. You had been waitlisted. Although it wasn’t a definite no, chances were, you were going to have to look elsewhere. The first tear fell down your cheek, and you wiped it away. It was followed by another, and another, until it was like a torrential downpour of water down your face.

You slowly fell to the floor and curled up into a ball, the letter crumpled up and discarded. You would have to find a way to tell your parents when they got home. You knew they would be supportive, but no matter what, it still hurt. And it would for a while.

-

Come the weekend, you were still hurting. Normally you would know better than to drink away your pain, but the wound was still fresh, and every drink someone set in front of you, you downed without wincing.

Next thing you knew, you were in the living room of Emma Hseuh’s sprawling mansion, surrounded by faces you didn’t know and voices you didn’t recognize. The last time you had seen Grace was when you both did shots of tequila before dancing on the coffee table together, but that felt like hours ago, and since then she had disappeared into the air like smoke. You figured she must have ditched you again.

You staggered your way past couples sloppily making out and two kids smoking weed to get to the bathroom. You were definitely feeling it now, and you weren’t sure if you were going to puke your guts out or piss your pants. You ended up just splashing water on your face to regain your composure, and when you left, you nearly bumped into Bruce leaning back against the wall in the hallway.

He smirked and pushed off of the wall. “Just who I was looking for.” His eyes widened as you nearly fell flat on your face from the force of bumping into him, and he caught you before you could. “Are you okay?”

He righted you back on your feet, and you pushed him away. “What do you care?”

He laughed at your very drunken appearance. “God, you’re shit faced. What happened to not drinking?”

You scowled. “I thought I told you to leave me alone,” you slurred, your eyes barely open. “Are you following me now?”

The amused expression on his face dropped. “What did I ever do to you? Did it ever occur to you that you’re the one who thinks she’s better than everyone, and that’s why you’re so set on being mean to me?”

You stared up at him, wanting to shrink down into nothing. You were so convinced that he had an ulterior motive behind his actions that you contorted and twisted every interaction you had into something sinister. “I’m sorry, it’s just... After all the things I’ve heard about you...”

“Most of the time, (Y/N), you’ll find that rumors are just that - rumors, born out of jealousy.” He placed his hands on your shoulders and smiled down at you warmly. “Is there any chance we can start over? Let bygones be bygones?”

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the way he was looking at you, but you nodded. “I would like that.”

His smile grew. “Great.” He draped his arm over your shoulders and started leading you down the hall. “Why don’t we go somewhere we can be alone?”

He took you to a thankfully empty bedroom. You sat and talked for a while about your life - your hopes, your dreams, your ambitions, where you were and where you wanted to go, everything and nothing all at once. You started to sober up, and you found yourself surprisingly enjoying his company. He was the first real and genuine person you had spoken to all night, and you wanted to curse yourself for ever thinking otherwise.

“So what’s the deal with Grace?” he asked you eventually. “You guys seem like such good friends, but you’re so... different.”

“We grew up together. Our parents are old family friends.” You looked down as you fidgeted with the patterned bedspread. “We used to be so close, but in high school, we started to drift apart. She made friends with those people,” you pointed to the door where everyone was outside, “and, well, you can tell I’m not the partying type...”

“I don’t know. I saw you dancing, and you’re not nearly as bad as you think you are.”

You both laughed. “What about you?” You hugged yourself and looked up at him. “I thought you were supposed to be some hotshot, playboy, Casanova. Why aren’t you out there with the rest of them right now breaking some poor girl’s heart?”

He grew oddly serious. “Because I’d rather be here with you.” You inhaled sharply as he cupped your face in his hands. “Usually, girls fawn all over me when they see me. But not you. You’re the only girl to have ever rejected my advances. You’re different, special.”

He leaned in to kiss you, but you put your hands on his chest to stop him. “Is that all I am to you?” You pushed him away enough that you had room to breathe. “A prize to be won?”

“What?” He furrowed his dark brows. “No, of course not.”

“Well, then maybe some rejection would do your ego good.” You shot up and stormed toward the door.

“What about GCAD?”

His voice made you stop in your tracks. You felt goosebumps rise on your arms. You turned around, shoulders raised and fists clenched, and saw him sitting there with a pleased smirk plastered on his face. “Do you think I don’t know about that?” He leaned back on his hands. “You got rejected, didn’t you? That’s why you’ve been drinking so much.”

“I was waitlisted, not rejected,” you corrected him through gritted teeth. “And how do you know about that anyway?”

“Well, it’s funny.” He looked at you with a shit-eating grin. “I recently just joined the admissions board.”

You swore you were seeing red. You charged at him and grabbed him by the collar of his neatly pressed shirt, wrinkling it. “You did this, didn’t you? You got me waitlisted!”

“Calm down.” He chuckled and pried your fingers off of him effortlessly. “It’s amazing the things you can get if you just throw enough money at them.” He stood up. “I may be able to convince the rest of the board to let you in, for a price, of course.”

“You’re just as bad as everyone says you are,” you spat. “Even worse, actually.”

He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “If you’re done running your mouth, you might put it to better use.” He grabbed you by your chin, forcing you to stare straight into his eyes. They were impossibly dark and empty like the void of space, drawing you into them. “Do what I say, and you’ll be rewarded.”

You tried to jerk away from him. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Because I always make good on my promises, and I’m promising you, (Y/N), you’ll get what you want if you do what I want.”

You felt hot tears sting your eyes as they leaked down your cheeks. You wiped them away with your hands, desperate to preserve what little dignity you had left. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t make me do this,” you whispered.

“I’m not making you do anything. You’re doing this of your own free will.” He threaded his fingers through your hair and yanked, causing you to yelp. “Now, get on your knees. And don’t make me repeat myself.”

You glared at him, and if looks could kill, you were sure he would be six feet under. You absolutely despised him, and even though what you were about to do made you sick to your stomach, getting in to GCAD meant the world to you. You would do anything it takes.

You slowly lowered yourself to your knees, refusing to make eye contact with him on your way down. You sat up eye level with his crotch, awaiting his next instructions.

“Good girl,” he cooed condescendingly, and you resisted the urge to bust his kneecaps. He removed his hands from you and unzipped his fly. His cock sprung free from its confines, hard and aching. “Go ahead. You know what to do.”

You tentatively wrapped your hand around his length, giving his shaft a few uneasy pumps. He hissed with pleasure and bucked into your hand eagerly. You continued to stroke him, but he grew impatient. “Don’t be shy.” He buried his hand in your hair again and moved your head so the tip of his cock pressed between your lips. “Bite me, and you’ll regret it.”

You licked the head of his cock. His precum felt like acid when it hit your tongue. You swallowed your pride and gave him a few more kitten licks before taking him into your mouth. You went as far as you could without choking and used your hand to stimulate what you couldn’t reach.

He growled and used his hand in your hair to bob you up and down his length faster. “Come on, you can take it.” He thrust into you at the same time, and you gagged each time he hit the back of your throat.

Your eyes widened, and you pressed your hands against his hips. He ignored you and continued to use you for his own pleasure. Your throat burned, your jaw ached, and saliva dripped out of your abused mouth and down your chin. You inhaled through your nose, but it was never enough to inflate your lungs fully. You felt like you were on the verge of passing out, though you doubted he would care if you did.

“Look at me,” he demanded. He tugged on your hair ‘til your scalp hurt, and you stared up at him. “I want you to watch me when I cum.”

His thrusts grew spastic, and he guided you up and down his length frantically. “You’re mine now,” he grunted, his voice weak with arousal. His cheeks were flushed, and his dark eyes were clouded over with lust. “You belong to me. I own you.”

He pulled you until you took him in fully, your nose touching his pelvis. He shot his hot cum down your throat in spurts with a wanton groan. He removed himself from you, and you collapsed onto the ground. You sputtered and gasped for breath, your face bright red and your hair mussed. You hacked until you coughed up his cum onto the hardwood. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and sobbed. You had never felt more violated or defiled in your life.

Bruce recovered from his climax and glowered down at you. “You were supposed to swallow like a good slut!” He reached down and grabbed you once again by the hair. He hauled you up, and you cried out. “Oh, we’re not finished yet. Not by a long shot.” He grinned venomously. “If you want to get in to your dream school, (Y/N), you’re going to have to earn it...”


End file.
